Distraction
by MapleleafCameo
Summary: Sherlock needs a distraction. It's a good thing John is there to provide one. A fluffy bit of smut for mattsloved1. Rated M


**A/N: Some basic, fluffy smut for mattsloved1. Just because. She gave me **_**tantalizing**_**, **_**provocative**_**, **_**luscious**_** and **_**bouncing**_**. And she thinks I am a naughty person:)**

**Don't own. I am neither mature enough nor responsible enough to qualify for that job, but oh what fun we could have!**

Sherlock was bouncing off the ceiling. Not literally of course. Even for him it would be quite a feat, but he was running riot throughout the living room.

They had wrapped up a case not 2 hours before. It had promised to be an 8 at the very least but it turned out to be a very disappointing 4 and it had not calmed the detective down in any way, shape or form. John tried to sit unobtrusively out of the way of the whirling dervish who was his flatmate. He was attempting to write up the latest case on his blog, but it was going nowhere fast with all the ruckus in the room.

He sighed. Once more it was up to him to try to find something to distract his friend. He sat back a moment and thought, his finger rubbed his lower lip.

It was rather enjoyable to watch as Sherlock careened off of the table, rebounded along the couch, clambered over the coffee table and finally sat in his chair, feet and arms jiggling in a mad dance of kinetic energy. Despite the fact John felt at times wearing body armor would be smart, there was something poetic, almost like an interpretative dance in the way Sherlock moved around the room. He found his breath catching once more at the frantic splendor of Sherlock's movements. Tornados and tsunamis were beautiful in a destructive force of nature way. Sherlock reflected the power and grandeur of an untamed environment. He was almost as devastating, really. John sighed again. He wondered once more if he could ever tell Sherlock how he really felt. How at certain times there was so much beauty in the man. John had never believed a man could be alluring before but Sherlock was, in his grace, his bearing, but especially in his intelligence. His razor sharp wit was thin enough to cut sinew and bone and John would gladly sacrifice himself on this particular altar of intellectual purity and the promise of fantastic sex, if he even thought there was the slightest possibility of it being reciprocated. His heterosexuality was tossed aside for one man only.

But that was beside the point. He needed to distract his flatmate in such a way as to avoid the slightest chance of there being a danger night. Not so much was he worried Sherlock would go out and buy cocaine. He was more concerned he would kill the angular detective himself.

And then. A fingerling of serendipity tickled the air around them, or maybe perhaps shoved fate with a sprawling kick in their general direction.

"John, I need a distraction! I need to get out of my head! Talk to me about anything. Any of your normal, boring stories! Talk to me about the desert, or a mission you were on or someone's life you saved! Anything! Entertain me! I need to hear something mundane."

So maybe right now John wasn't particularly enamored with his flatmate.

"Umm, Sherlock, I was in a war. There was nothing mundane about it. And I can't tell you much about my missions."

"Oh for god sake, I can get clearance from Mycroft. Please! Anything! Tell me… tell me how on earth did you get the ridiculous name of Three Continents? It must be an exaggeration. Stories told to puff up your ego. I have seen how spectacularly well you can strike out with the opposite sex here in London. I have great difficulty in believing you were able to score much action overseas."

John cleared his throat. Fine if he was going to be a dick, then John would reciprocate.

"Look, I don't have to tell you anything. Especially if you're going to be all…" and he waved his hand toward his friend. "All…Sherlocky."

"Sherlocky? Is that the best insult you can come up with?" There was a great rolling of eyes heard throughout the room.

John narrowed his own. This was why it would never work. Not because of Sherlock's repressed emotions, but because of the ones which scorched and burned the air around John, sucking oxygen out of his lungs. Suffocating him.

He carefully put down the laptop and stood and began to march toward the stairs.

"Oh for heavens sake, John. Wait. I'm sorry. Look! I apologized. I never apologize. Come back here and tell me anything!"

John paused. "Anything?"

"Anything. Distract me!"

_Right,_ John thought. _Fine. You want distracting? Here's my best shot._

"What if I do more than tell you? What if I show you?"

"Show me what?"

"You'll see,"

Sherlock looked a tad wary, but as he was desperate he gave a short, sharp nod.

John came over to Sherlock's chair, stood in his space, right between his legs. And looked down at him. He let a slow, soft smile grace his lips. He even let it shine through his eyes, no matter how infuriated he was with his friend at the moment. He'd definitely show him. This might be his only chance.

"What are you doing?'

"You'll see."

He leaned a little closer and he carefully reached out and brushed an errant curl back behind Sherlock's ear. He then trailed his hand though Sherlock's hair and softly traced his jaw line. At the same time he captured Sherlock's eyes with his own and refused to let go. There was definitely smolder directed towards the other man.

"Uh, John? Wha…what are you doing?" Sherlock's breath stuttered to a halt and then ramped up to the point where the younger man was in danger of hyperventilating and his pulse jumped a little in his throat. Okay. A lot. John could see it from where he stood. He took the same hand and laid a finger on Sherlock's luscious, succulent mouth.

"Shh…You wanted to be distracted and entertained, so I'm showing you exactly how I got the name Three Continents Watson." He titled his hand a little so his thumb came up and he stroked the full, bottom lip. "It should be illegal," he said in a slightly deeper register than he usually spoke. He said it slowly and seductively. Trailed his thumb all along the outline of the lip and gently pulled it down a bit until Sherlock's lips parted. Sherlock's face, for the first time John could remember, showed a hint of colour, a delicate shade of pink.

"What…" throat clearing. "What should be illegal?"

"Your mouth. It's perfect you know. It's almost a crime it's poised there, plump and full, waiting for a kiss."

Sherlock blinked owlishly. "John…"

"Yes?"

"I…I…did you…?"

John chuckled. "Having trouble speaking? Is this helping at all?" He took his other hand and brushed along Sherlock's arm and across his chest, where he could feel a fluttering birdlike heart. He leaned forward a bit. "It is just so…tantalizing to be near you all day, to watch you, to see your mind work the way it does and not be able to touch you or feel your skin underneath mine. To know how unattainable you are. Sometimes I watch you and I just want to reach out. The whole time I'm thinking 'What does his skin feel like?' 'The things I could show him if he let me place my hands just so.' And you know what, Sherlock?"

Sherlock, whose eyes were big and round, with only a hint of colour left illuminating the edge of his pupils, nodded in a staggered sort of way. "It's like silk, or painting with water. It's beautiful." John leaned even closer. "You're beautiful. Did you know?"

This time Sherlock's head moved in the negative.

John's hand, which had been on the detective's lip, turned again until it was cupping the other man's cheek. He then took the hand, which had been stroking Sherlock's arm and wrapped it around the back of the long, elegant neck.

"Do you know what I am going to do now? I'm going to kiss you."

And John bridged the infinitesimal gap standing between them, the tiny fissure of space and of taboo and of friendship. He connected it with the want and desire he had been suppressing for the last year and with the annoyance he sometimes felt for his provocative roommate. He linked it with the panic that sometimes rose in his heart when Sherlock did something stupid and put himself in danger and with the fear he himself felt over finally showing Sherlock his true feelings for him. For this could blow up in his face in so many ways. He finally joined the two of them together with the surprise he felt over his feelings for the long limbed man.

He leaned in and he carefully brushed Sherlock's mouth with his own lips and then carefully, slowly, maddeningly wrapped his own around the delicious lower lip and sucked tenderly. He was rewarded with a small gasp and felt the younger man's mouth open wider underneath his own. He carefully swept his tongue around the outer rim of the perfect Cupid's bow. He didn't enter into Sherlock's mouth just yet as he didn't want to startle him anymore than he probably already had, but he was pleasurably surprised when a shy, tentative tongue ventured out and tasted the hot, moist confines of John's own mouth. There were questions present in the seeking tongue, but it wasn't _What are you doing? _any more. It was _Is this okay? Do you like this? Am I doing this right?_

With the cracking open of Sherlock's inhibitions, John felt his mouth break into a smile. He pulled back a little to check on Sherlock, but the other's tongue and mouth and even his own body followed him as if it were a biological imperative he seek out John. Which at this point it might very well be. John felt a stirring in his heart and soul. He had thought at one point it was simple lust he felt for this impossible man, but with this kiss, a kiss he had given away in order to teach a lesson, he found himself being educated by the fact he loved Sherlock with his very being and much more deeply than he had ever dreamt possible.

One of Sherlock's hands came up and timidly reached around the back of John's neck in a reciprocal move. His other coyly stroked along the front of John's neck and down into the dip at the base. A low, fervent groan came out of one of them, John wasn't sure whose it was, but at this point he didn't really care. The attempt became heady, full of desire and fascination. Heat pooled. Trousers became more constrictive and John was becoming more excited by what was happening and he wasn't sure if he was in control any longer.

He forcefully pulled back and stared at Sherlock with heavily lidded eyes. "And that is how I got the name. I was very successful at seducing women. Not always exactly the same way but this is where it would usually start to get interesting. Now I have a question for you?"

Sherlock's face had pinked up even more. He had fisted his hand in John's button down shirt and John hadn't even noticed.

"Anything, John. Ask me anything." His already deep voice was a like heavy cream but layered with steam and smoke.

"Do you want to continue or has this been enough of a distraction?"

In response Sherlock removed his other hand from the back of John's neck and grabbed the other side of his shirt and yanked him hard toward himself. Because Sherlock was seated, John lost his balance and landed on top of the detective. He could tell that Sherlock was as turned on as he was. He laughed quietly again. "I'll take that to be a yes."

Then he was able to slowly, slowly, slowly take his time and in a most leisurely and satisfying way he dissected the detective, took him apart at the seems and put him back together again, In the process the detective deduced that John loved him and he him and the unsatisfying mystery of the earlier part of the day gave way to the deeply rapturous mystery of two bodies exploring one another.

Morning came and with it the fear that perhaps they had rushed into something, opened a Pandora's box which could never be closed again, but as John leaned up on his elbow and stroked the naked chest of his flatmate and friend and newly minted lover, the other man smiled a smile full of sweet tenderness and the promise that, yes they would have days where they would want to kill each other and yes there would be times when Sherlock couldn't handle the boredom, but they would have one more means at their disposal to show how deeply they felt. John remembered that at the bottom of Pandora's box was hope.

Sherlock turned to his flatmate, his friend, his newly minted lover and brushed a solemn kiss on the tip of John's nose. He looked at him with bedroom eyes and whispered, "That was probably the best explanation I have ever received on the origins of a nickname."

And John threw back his head and his rich, boyish laugh filled the room. They had the whole day left to them to celebrate the breaking of barriers and the discovery of something wonderful and lovely.

John leaned forward, eager to get started.


End file.
